


Left Behind

by folkhorrorwolfstar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Lupin, Demisexual Sirius, Depression, Dorcas Meadowes/ Marlene McKinnon, First War, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Implied Smut, Implied Underage Sex, Internalised Homophobia, Lie Low At Lupins, M/M, Misery, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, School, Secret Marriage, So so much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, canon character death, ish, jily, liberal amounts of northern swearing, like there's no actual expicit underage sex because no, second war, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkhorrorwolfstar/pseuds/folkhorrorwolfstar
Summary: No one knew about them, not really...Remus remembers his relationship with Sirius over the years, after his death.





	Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest I think this could only be improved by listening to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon at the same time, but I - like Remus Lupin - would say that about anything.

No one knew about them, not really, though some may have suspected the true nature of their relationship. Snape, he knew, was particularly fond of making more vulgar speculations to that end, but he didn’t really know - he’d just spit out some homophobic nonsense to get a rise out of Sirius, but Snape would sneer any bloody nonsense to get a rise out of Sirius... Anyway, he supposed it was more accurate to say no one knew about them anymore, because everyone who had known about it – really known about it – was dead now: James, and Lily, and Sirius. Oh Sirius. 

Remus Lupin stares out of the window at number 12 Grimmauld Place, the sparse kept garden in the square looking as miserable as his mood. Molly Weasley had brought him a cup of tea hours ago, and it sat on the desk where she’d placed it, cold and untouched, a stain beginning to form at the rim of the cup, the milk rising to a white blur on the surface. He’s perched on the desk, as it affords the best view.

‘He’s lost the last of his childhood friends,’ he overheard Molly talking to Tonks the other night. ‘It’ll be hard on him. But he’ll be okay dear.’

He feels like he might drown in all their pity. 

The last of the marauders. 

What a shame, they must all secretly think, that it was the werewolf who survived. No. He knows that’s unfair, to put prejudice in the mouths of Molly and Tonks, and all the others. He knows he does them a disservice: that none of them are really thinking that, it is only that he is thinking it himself. He is thinking what a waste of life this whole stupid war has been. He wants to be fifteen again and running and running, through the forest with his friends, when all things seemed to be weightless, when nothing mattered: the only careless moments of his life.

He stares out the window, he hasn’t moved because he is hoping that Sirius will find him and put his arms around his waist and kiss his neck and breathe insignificant platitudes into his ear. But he knows this will never happen again. He knows he is alone. He is the last marauder.

-

Remus came out in fifth year: James and Peter were exhausting the topic of Dorcas Meadowes’ and Marlene McKinnon’s newly discovered relationship over breakfast, and considering that the two women in question were about ten feet away with their tongues down each other’s throats, it was admittedly hard to ignore.

‘Lesbians!’ Peter had squeaked in a faux whisper. ‘Actual real life lesbians and we know them.’

‘Yes, and you snogged one of them last year on a dare, we know Wormtail,’ sighed James.

‘Well I bloody did,’ said Peter haughtily. ‘Which of you has ever snogged a lesbian eh?’

‘Maybe that’s what did it,’ said Remus wryly. 

‘Oh fuck off Moony,’ said Peter. ‘It’s just… you know… weird. We know actual gay people.’

‘They’re more common than you think Wormtail you pillock, they’re not fucking phoenixes,’ said Remus. ‘Even I’m bisexual.’ He’d blurted it out before he knew what he was saying, and blushing furiously, stared down into his porridge. 

‘Oh?’ said James in a strangled sort of gasp.

‘Well yeah…’ he mumbled. 

‘Cool,’ said Peter, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘Groovy. Nice.’

They were quiet for a long moment. He sighed and rolled his eyes, ‘And before you ask, no I don’t fancy either of you, you narcissists. I have taste.’

Peter smirked, ‘Don’t say that – you’ll really hurt Prongs, look at him, he’s pining.’

‘Moony how could you?’ James looked at him with faux-puppy-eyes. ‘It was meant to be you and me Moony. I got a tattoo of your face and everything!’

Peter cackled.

‘Sorry mate,’ he said, inwardly relieved at how well they were taking it. ‘You’re just not my type.’

‘Who’s not your type?’ said a voice behind him, as Sirius plonked himself down next to him at the table. He was always late for breakfast – early mornings never did sit well with him. Sirius Black was a born teenager.

‘James,’ said Remus simply. 

‘The bastard,’ James pretended to swoon.

Remus snorted.

‘You’re a vicious heart-breaker Remus Lupin!’ 

‘And you’re a melodramatic prat Prongs.’

Peter laughed, ‘Well who is your type then?’

Remus gave him a withering look, ‘Does it really bloody matter? You’ve never cared about the kind of girls I might be interested in, but suddenly the options span another gender and you’re all intrigued. Sure it’s not wishful thinking on your part?’

‘Ooooh,’ laughed James. ‘Someone’s getting testy. Is it almost Moony’s time of the month?’ 

‘Fuck off Prongs.’

‘Sorry mate,’ mumbled Peter.

‘Nah, Wormtail I’m sorry for snapping,’ Remus sighed and turned to Sirius. ‘You’re awfully quiet this morning – what’s got into you?’

‘Nothing Moony dear boy though… Is that? Oh bloody hell McKinnon,’ he shouted over. ‘Put her down – really, there’s supply closets for that sort of thing.’ Both girls presented him with the middle finger and continued. He turned to the others. ‘I wish people wouldn’t inflict it on us you know.’ 

‘What?’ said Remus. 

‘All the… teenage, hormonal snogging bollocks,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘Like, by all means, stick your tongue down someone’s throat, but please just do it in private yeah?’

The others looked at him in varying states of confusion.

‘So absolutely nothing about two girls kissing is attractive to you?’ asked James.

Sirius shrugged, ‘Should it be?’ 

Peter stared at him in disbelief, and Remus laughed. 

‘He’s right, you know,’ he said, finishing his porridge. ‘You two especially need to stop ogling them, you great perverts.'

Both James and Peter looked a little embarrassed, ‘Yeah Moony mate, you’re right.’

‘It is a bit weird,’ agreed James. 

‘Bloody creepy if you ask me,’ sniffed Sirius. 

‘Bit of a surprise though isn’t it?’ said Peter nodding at him.

‘What?’

‘Well Padfoot, you know, I’ve seen you flirt with just about everyone in this room at one point or another, including the statues, and well…’

‘And the ghosts,’ put in Remus.

‘And the ghosts,’ agreed Peter.

‘Well what?’

‘If anyone was going to be okay with people snogging at breakfast, my first bet would be on you.’ The small boy smiled weakly and shrugged. Remus and James nodded in agreement.

‘Well, I suppose you’re wrong then,’ said Sirius haughtily. 

The three others exchanged meaningful glances for a moment, the gist of the communication being Remus, you’re closest, you do something, before Sirius seemed to shake off the whole issue and instead draped himself across Remus’s shoulders and batting his eyelashes, ‘What about me Remus? Am I your type?’

‘Fuck off Pads,’ he tried to shrug the smaller boy off him. 

‘That wasn’t a no.’

‘I said fuck off!’

‘But Moooooony… Why don’t you love me?’ he whined.

‘Don’t try begging Padfoot, it doesn’t work,’ cackled James, draping himself over Remus’s other shoulder. ‘He broke my heart – he’ll break yours.’

Peter laughed at Remus’s eye roll. 

‘I’m never telling you wankers anything personal ever again.’

-

It was three months later that Sirius brought it up again, one evening in the common room – it was late, they were alone, James had Quidditch the next morning, Peter just really enjoyed sleep.

‘Moony?’ asked Sirius, he was lying on the sofa, his legs thrown over one of the arms. Remus sat next to him, Sirius’s head quite close to his leg – but he wasn’t going to think about that. Sirius was supposed to be finishing his charms essay, but that had been abandoned hours ago, and now he was attempting to twirl a pencil of Remus’s between his fingers. He was always busy, fidgeting; he always had to do something with his hands.

Remus looked up from the book on Pre-Roman magic he’d been reading (just for fun, exams were a while away, and he thought he should treat himself to a book he’d actually enjoy), ‘What is it Pads?’

Sirius paused, as if working up the courage for something. ‘Well… you know how you like blokes as well?’

Remus snorted, ‘I am aware of the fact, yes.’

‘How did you know?’

Remus frowned, ‘I don’t know… I just sort of did.’ He couldn’t very well have told Sirius the truth, that maybe, just maybe, he’d realised that he looked at Sirius in much the same way that he looked at that Ravenclaw girl he’d had a huge crush on in second year, but worse, because while that Ravenclaw girl had turned out to be a stuck up cow, Sirius was already one of his best friends.

‘Hmm.’

‘I know that’s not much of a help mate, sorry,’ he said. ‘Is there anything, you know, you wanted to talk about?’ This was tortuous, really, he thought to himself. 

‘I well… I don’t think I like anyone,’ he said. ‘Like that, you know? Like… I don’t get… sex. Or romance, or any of that.’

Remus was ashamed to admit his stomach dropped in disappointment. He wasn’t surprised, this was Sirius, who valued brotherhood and adventure and loyalty, who was overly touchy feely with everyone not because he was trying to flirt, but because he just liked physical contact, who wrinkled his nose at people snogging – even if he approved of the relationship. Sirius who looked a little wounded, a little lost, every time James Potter trailed after Lily Evans like an idiot, instead of continuing whatever prank they’d started. 

‘That’s… fair enough,’ said Remus. 

‘Yeah?’ said Sirius. ‘Is it? Because, everyone seems to be you know… pairing off. And I… I just don’t get it.’

‘You don’t have to get it Pads; you don’t have to want sex with anyone.’

Sirius smiled, and took his friends hand, ‘Good. Thank you Moony. You’re very wise.’

‘And you’re taking the piss now,’ smiled Remus, trembling at his fingers threaded through his friend’s. 

Sirius smiled, ‘I just…’ He stopped. 

‘What?’

‘I don’t want to get left behind,’ he murmured. ‘When everyone else is off and married and grown up.’

Remus frowned, it was easy to forget how vulnerable Sirius was, he showed it so rarely, ‘You won’t get left behind Pads… I promise. You’ll always have me, and James, and Peter.’

‘I know… But… Prongs and Evans right? I know she hates his guts now but… She clearly likes him somewhere deep down, you know? And Peter and Emmeline have been going out for a while now. And then Marlene and Dorcas… What’s going to stop you buggering off with some nice young thing the next opportunity you have?’

Remus laughed, ‘We’re all still teenagers mate, I doubt any of them will still be together in ten years. I doubt Prongs and Evans will even have got together in ten years…’

‘They’ll still be bickering though.’

‘Oh god yeah,’ Remus laughed. ‘My point is… I know it’s all a bit much, everyone full of hormones and acting like idiots… But things will even out, yeah?’

‘Yeah… I just, I don’t want to end up alone, you know?’

Remus sighed, their hands were still entwined, his arm was across Sirius’s chest now. ‘Tell you what, as you’re so keen on holding my hand,’ he grinned. ‘If in ten years, I’ve not ‘buggered off with some nice young thing’ as you so eloquently put it, I’ll marry you, and we can be Prongs’s kid’s weird celibate uncles.’

Sirius laughed, ‘Alright then Moony you big queer, I’ll marry you.’

Remus snorted, ‘We should head to bed – Prongs will never forgive you if you miss Quidditch.’

‘You’re right.’ 

‘To be honest, you’ll probably just end up married to him.’

‘Shut up Moony.’

 

‘So like, you don’t fancy anyone?’ said Peter when the others found out – they were all drinking firewhiskey one Friday evening in their dorm, Remus was leaning out the window with a joint. ‘Like no one at all?’

‘It’s not that I don’t fancy anyone,’ Sirius began. ‘Just that I don’t really want to have sex with them.’

‘But that’s what fancying is…’ said a bewildered Peter.

‘God help your future wife Worm,’ joked Remus. 

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well fancying someone’s not all about the sex, is it? It’s about wanting to spend time with someone, and like, spooning and all that rubbish,’ shrugged Remus, he gestured to James to take the joint, who obliged, and he went to sit down on the floor near Sirius. 

‘Sirius Black has spooned everyone in this room on multiple occasions,’ said James, inhaling another hit of acrid smoke.

‘Doesn’t mean I fancy you though Potter,’ said Sirius smiling wryly at James. 

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ sighed Remus, privately aware that Sirius had said that it wasn’t that he didn’t fancy anyone, and painfully wondering who it might be. 

‘So who do you fancy?’ said Wormtail thickly, the firewhiskey clearly having more effect than he realised. 

‘None of your business,’ sniffed Sirius.

‘Well how do you know you fancy them if you don’t want sex?’

‘Oh leave it alone Wormtail,’ sighed Remus. 

‘No, no, it’s fine Moons,’ he said. ‘I just… it’s only ever happened this once yeah? And I feel differently about them, this person,’ he bit his lip in thought. ‘Than anyone else, in like a nice way. Like, I feel better when they’re around, and I want to spend time with them, not like doing anything particularly, you know, just being with them… And I want to hold their hand.’ He shrugged, blushing ever so slightly. Remus stared at the floor, the alcohol churning within him – did he just say that?

‘Ugh, you fucking saps, spooning and hand-holding, Merlin!’ said James, and waved the joint at him. ‘Finish this.’ 

‘Gladly,’ grinned Sirius. ‘Though, I wouldn’t go around call us saps, neither of us wrote poetry for Evans that Valentine’s Day.’

James groaned, ‘Let me forget it.’

‘Never,’ said his three friends in unison.

‘How’d it go again Pete?’ asked Sirius, grinning at James as he buried his face in his hands.

‘Eyes,’ began Peter in faux seriousness. ‘Green, verdant, like the trees reflected in a lake. Hair! Fire! Hellfire!’ He was stopped mid-performance by a well-calculated pillow to the head from James.

‘I should never have introduced you to Ginsburg mate, you should have stuck to rhyme…’ sighed Remus.

And the night wore on with no more talk of fancying anyone, but in more reasonable discussions of pranks, and plans for the next full moon (they’d had four together so far, and the novelty had not yet worn off), and everyone’s thoughts on the summer holidays, though they were far off, for they would have to meet up, surely, they were the marauders, and couldn’t possibly be separated. 

-

The next full moon, Remus awoke to find Sirius curled around him protectively – he usually woke up with Padfoot closest, but never until now in human form. He blanched a little at first, and then fell into the warmth and comfort of another body so close, someone he trusted, someone he – very deep down and very quietly – loved. Their hands were locked together.

The wolf loved Padfoot, and Padfoot loved the wolf, and everyone knew that and accepted it, because the wolf was the alpha, and there was nothing odd about it. Of course the wolf and Padfoot got along best – they saw each other in each other, what can a wolf understand about a rat or a stag? Nothing, really – he knew they were his pack, but they weren’t really… him. A wolf looks at a dog and sees himself domesticated, he sees his own possibility for tameness, and a dog looks at a wolf, and sees the whole, unfathomable wild.

‘Morning Moony,’ croaked Sirius in his ear. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah Pads, I’m fine,’ he said weakly. ‘You should go back – Pomfrey will be here soon.’

‘Don’t want to go,’ murmured Sirius sleepily. 

‘You have to mate,’ he said, hating that it was true. 

‘Wanted to keep holding your hand,’ he said in a whisper, and Remus’s body felt like it was on fire with want, and not just the pain and degradation of another transformation.

‘What do you mea-?’ he began, but then Sirius’s lips were on his very softly, and he felt dizzy and mad with desire. He was suddenly very glad he had somehow fallen asleep entangled in the blanket and Sirius could not see evidence of that desire.

‘Sirius…’ he murmured when their lips parted again. ‘What…’

The black-haired young man grinned wide, ‘Don’t tell Peter yeah? I really don’t want him knowing who I fancy.’

Remus blushed. 

‘You okay with it?’ he looked momentarily nervous.

‘What?’

‘Me fancying you?’

‘God yeah,’ he croaked, nodding frantically. 

‘Cool,’ said Sirius. 

‘Now bugger off before Madame Pomfrey finds you,’ he growled. 

‘Right, yeah,’ he murmured, and then raising his voice. ‘Oi James, Peter, get up you lazy twats!’

‘Fuck off Sirius,’ groaned James, and the three boys sleepily trooped away from their friend. 

‘See you later Moony,’ mumbled Peter as they left.

 

He was nervous then, terrified it was all a sort of dream… Terrified too, that maybe Sirius only wanted to kiss him to get some sort of perverse revenge on his family. If there was anyone the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black wouldn’t want their son kissing, it was a half-blood, male werewolf.

 

It was three days before they were alone together again, in the common room once more, Remus reading, Sirius strewn across the sofa, fiddling with god knows what – maybe a remembrall, maybe one of the snitches James had nicked. Frank Longbottom was studying in the corner, and Remus couldn’t help willing him to just go to bloody bed for crying out loud, and eventually of course, he did. But they sat in silence until Remus heard himself cough awkwardly and say, ‘So…’

‘Yeah?’ said Sirius shyly. Remus had never known him to be shy. 

‘About this fancying me thing…’

‘Yeah…’ 

‘What’s the deal with it?’

Sirius stopped what he was doing; neither of them looked the other in the eye, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Merlin, I don’t know Pads, one minute you’re asexual, the next you’re kissing me, and I just wondered you know…’

‘Well I am still asexual,’ he began. ‘But… I really do like kissing you.’

‘Oh,’ Remus blushed. ‘Oh good.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Very much,’ he breathed.

‘Cool,’ said Sirius. ‘Would you like to do it some more?’

‘Of course I would you bloody idiot.’

And so they did. 

 

It became almost a game, stealing kisses from one another as often as they could, a hand held beneath a desk, or nights spent just holding each other in bed when the others had gone to sleep, waking early to avoid them. And Remus wanted him, by Merlin he wanted him, but it never got that far, and neither would it, and he didn’t mind. It was enough, to know that if Sirius wanted to touch anyone it was him, to know he was loved, to know that though James was Sirius’s brother, his everything, he, Remus, had a portion of Sirius no one else had, that perhaps no one else could ever have. 

They told no one, it seemed better that way, a beautiful, fragile secret; and if they were honest with themselves, they were both scared – they saw the way people looked at Marlene and Dorcas, they heard what people said about ‘the queers.’ If he was honest, Remus was tired of being an outsider, tired of being vilified for his very existence as a werewolf; he wasn’t ready to deal with the nastiness that might come from him being a werewolf with a boyfriend.

Perhaps people noticed small things: that Sirius flirted with everyone a little less, that if he sat on anyone’s lap in the common room – as he often did – it would usually be Remus’s, that he seemed calmer, a little less frenetic than usual, and that Remus – who no one much paid attention to anyway – was somehow less insecure, as if distracted from hating himself for once. James noticed, more than anyone, and though a little hurt that his two closest friends had neglected to tell him about their relationship, he was happy for them, and said nothing. And Peter noticed, but nobody realised: people always forgot about Peter somehow.

-

Remus had known Sirius was in a mood to do something unutterably stupid, he’d been gearing up to it for weeks, he was short-tempered and spiteful, especially with the Slytherins, he’d been careless with pranks and argued with his teachers more: multiple detentions made him suddenly very busy, and kisses stolen became infrequent, quiet conversations less likely. He was even moody with James, which was unfathomable to them all. 

‘Do you think something’s happened with his brother?’ asked Peter, trying to reverse the hex Sirius had put on his shoes that morning to make them pink. 

‘Maybe…’ shrugged Remus. ‘He’s always more pissed off when his family kick off. He said anything to you Prongs?’

‘Not a squeak Moony, no offence Worm,’ said James. ‘Not a bloody word.’ He waved his wand idly at Peter’s shoes and they mellowed to a nice mauve instead. ‘Sorry Pete.’

Peter sighed, ‘Ta for trying mate.’

‘Might be the making of you Wormtail – a new look,’ grinned Remus. ‘Embrace your feminine side.’

‘Just because you and Sirius are… you know, doesn’t mean I’m gay as well.’

It was the first time it had been mentioned by anyone. Overcome by shame and anger, Remus scowled, slammed the book he was reading shut and marched out of the Great Hall. He heard James sigh and smack Peter round the head, ‘Tact Wormtail you fuckwit.’

-

That full moon it finally happened: Sirius’s petulant rage seethed over and scalded Severus Snape, and almost cost him, and James, and by extension Remus, his life. No one really knew what Sirius had been thinking, only that he hadn’t.

Remus tried not to speak to him, he really truly tried to cut him out of his life, but found he was too weak to do so: the fact that he had friends, that he had someone he could perhaps even call a lover, indeed the boyish relish of adventure, was all too much for him. He had never thought any of it possible, and though guilt sat in his stomach like a stone – Snape hadn’t died, had he? Maybe he had deserved just a small scare… Well no, not deserved, but wasn’t he leading up to it, meddling in things he shouldn’t have? Sirius hadn’t meant to hurt Remus…

They ran in to each other on the third floor corridor, it was late – too late for either of them to be out. Both wandering the castle listlessly, avoiding their dorm.

Sirius stopped still when he saw him. 

Remus slowed, but worked up the courage to walk past, shame and anger and something like desire singing in him: if he was well and truly honest with himself, he wasn’t angry with Sirius, but angry because he wasn’t angry with Sirius. His friend had done something potentially unforgiveable, betrayed his most dreadful secret, and he was so fucking smitten that – in all honesty – he’d shrugged it off in an hour or so… Snape was alive. No harm done, eh? How pathetic. 

He’d made it past him, avoided the dejected look in those storm-grey eyes.

‘Remus I…’ 

He stopped, shoulders falling in, he wanted to weep. 

‘I’m so sorry.’

Sirius Black never apologised. 

He did weep, collapsing into the arms that enveloped him, letting Sirius lead him into an empty classroom and kiss him, over and over, until their lips were raw. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured between each breath. ‘Moony I’m so sorry.’

And when Sirius’s hand trailed up his thigh and lingered near his crotch before beginning to stroke him over his trousers, Remus groaned gutturally, almost overcome, before realising, ‘But you… You don’t want that…’

‘Maybe I do,’ whispered Sirius. ‘Maybe I’ve only ever wanted it with you. Maybe I only just realised, and that’s why I’ve been acting like such a prat.’

Which was utterly too much to comprehend, the idea that Sirius Black couldn’t give a damn about sex in any form, unless it was with him, was too good, and frankly totally unfair, and so he kissed back roughly and growled, ‘You were so startled by your own sexual awakening that you almost got three people killed.’

‘When you put it like that, it’s completely insane, I know,’ said Sirius, and Remus realised Sirius too was crying. 

‘It’s the least any of us could have expected of you,’ laughed Remus.

‘What can I say Moony? Puberty is rough.’

-

That summer Sirius stayed with James, becoming an honorary Potter with his own bedroom and everything: Remus and Peter joined them for August, their collective parents slightly amused that the four of them couldn’t bear to spend more than a month apart. The Potters were more than happy to take them, privately Effie Potter had always wanted more children, but had been rather older than most mothers when James was born, so technically having four sons for a month appealed to her, and Fleamont delighted in anything that delighted his wife. She filled them with good, real Indian cooking (the sort that ruined takeaway for them all for the rest of their lives) and allowed them to revel in the general mischief of being sixteen and convinced of their own invincibility. 

It was one of those blissful, halcyon summers, the sort one reads about in books: long hot days of exploring and wrestling and bathing in the lake nearby, and perfect, bruise-skied stormy days, when they’d drink hot chocolate and tell ghost stories and plot for next year’s pranks. 

Every so often, when the others were busy, Sirius and Remus would sneak away to Sirius’s room and kiss, and sometimes more than that. Each night, for Remus had been given a mattress in Sirius’s room, Peter in James’s, they would curl up together, comfortable in the knowledge that no one would disturb them there. 

In the dead of night, as a perfect summer storm raged around the house, Sirius whispered in Remus’s ear, so quietly he almost missed it, ‘I love you Moons.’

-

Sixth and seventh year passed in a blur – each of the four of them trying desperately to hold on to their childhoods, speeding inextricably towards a war they each knew was coming. Reports of Death Eaters terrorising muggles became worse, the whole idea of a future in which any of them could choose their fate became somehow impossible. After school Sirius bought a flat with his inheritance, and though officially Remus was living with his parents in Wales, he spent every night there – well, someone had to cook for the poor useless little pureblood, he couldn’t very well live on takeaway now could he?

War came.

James grew up first, which surprised them all, but surprised Lily Evans more, especially when she realised she was just as in love with him as he was with her. He faced down war with the determination and duty of a true hero. A perfect soldier.

Remus, in his way, had always been a grown up, the responsibility of his condition weighing on him since he was too small even to fully understand it. But in a way too, he was more naïve, stunted as he was by his early trauma: he craved a normal, teenage life, and though more than willing to fight, he resented that he was being plunged head first into war, that his slice of normality was being robbed from him. 

Sometimes, in more cynical moods and he would never admit it, he thought Dumbledore had given him a chance as a child, so he could use a werewolf to fight his good fight. (Later, when he saw his James’s child raised for the slaughter, he begrudgingly knew he had been right). He knew too, he couldn’t have refused Dumbledore anything. He owed so much.

Sirius acted as if fighting was everything he had ever wanted. Sirius Black was full of rage. Sirius Black was made to fight, his very sinews knitted out of centuries of anger and repression: that he was fighting that which had sired him only fired his rage more. But when he came home from missions he would collapse into Remus’s arms and howl with weeping: he did not want to kill. ‘What if Reg is there Moony? I don’t want to hurt Reg.’

Peter was very, very afraid, and despite the fact that fear makes someone truly dangerous, as usual, everyone overlooked Peter. 

-

‘He’s making you go on a mission with the werewolves?’ Sirius spat. ‘What the fuck is he thinking?’

‘It’s the only way Sirius – I’ll have more sway with them than anyone else.’

‘It’s a fucking disgrace is what it is! Haven’t you gone through enough, without having to associate with those… those…’

‘Those what, Sirius? Those monsters?’ Remus snapped.

Sirius opened his mouth but said nothing. 

‘This is the problem – everyone’s okay with a werewolf when they know them, when they’re their werewolf, their friend… But the moment it’s some random werewolf on the street, they’re not even given the common decency of being a person. If you didn’t know me, I’d be just another fucking monster to you.’

‘That’s utter bollocks Moony and you know it! There are plenty of decent people who are werewolves, but to be perfectly honest, Dumbledore’s not sending you on a mission to infiltrate some nice cosy WI style ‘werewolves not swearwolves’ group now is he? No. He’s making you face those extremists on your own, knowing full well how fucking dangerous they are.’

Remus looked at the floor guiltily, the fight gone from him, ‘I’m sorry Pads…’

Sirius sighed, and held him, ‘I know. I’m sorry too Moons.’

‘I’m just so scared.’

‘So am I, love, so am I.’

They made love, because they had to, because they had to lay claim to one another’s bodies, to one another’s souls, before this war ate them both up entirely, and each night they held each other desperately, as if when they touched, they might become invincible, and the whole, wretched world would not hurt them. 

-

When Harry was born everything became so much simpler, suddenly there was something real, and tangible, and perfect to fight for. He looked so innocent, so small, with James’ dark skin and ridiculous hair, and Lily’s shrewd, laughing green eyes. But he wasn’t just Lily and James’s kid. He was the marauders’ kid. Sirius fawned over him, Padfoot standing guard whenever he could be spared. Remus read to the small child, not quite knowing what else to bring (he also read to Padfoot, though Sirius would never admit he loved the sound of Remus’s Northern voice lilting over the words of whichever book he’d brought – Sirius’s parents had never read him bedtime stories, he realised without having the energy to care about it anymore). When Sirius was told he was godfather, there is a tacit agreement that it sort of included Remus too. 

‘If anything happens to us,’ said Lily – their respective partners played with her child in the next room, she stared at Harry almost greedily, utterly devoted. ‘I know it’ll be you two who look after him and that… that’s something of a relief.’

Remus smiled at her, ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you Lils.’

She looked up at him sadly, ‘Don’t lie to me Lupin. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Oh Lily,’ and he hugged his friend’s wife tightly, just as terrified as she was of the future.

‘You love him don’t you?’ she whispered into his armpit, where she had buried her face. ‘Sirius, I mean.’

Remus inhaled sharply, ‘Yes.’ He’d never said it to anyone else. He’d never acknowledged it out loud to anyone but Sirius. 

‘Well, he’ll take care of Harry, and you’ll take care of him, yeah?’

He wanted to scream at her, tell her to stop being so bloody maudlin, tell her that she’d be okay, because she had to be okay, she had to, she couldn’t bloody die, neither could James, but instead he murmured, ‘Of course Lily. I promise.’

 

So then, Lily knew, and James… James always just seemed to understand, that whatever Remus and Sirius had was important, and unspoken, and was their thing, really, and none of his business. He accepted it. But they knew that others wouldn’t, even in muggle society – it was not safe to be openly gay in London in the early eighties (Marlene was punched in the face by some skinhead one night out with Dorcas, if they hadn’t be witches, they dreaded to think what might have happened), and so… They continued the lie. They were just very close friends. Members of the Order half-heartedly tried to set them up with others, but it came to nothing – fighting a war isn’t really the place for match-making. Marlene and Dorcas knew of course, but they had always known, and then they’d been killed by the Death Eaters. 

‘When the war’s over Moony,’ Sirius slurred over a bottle of firewhiskey one night. ‘We’ll tell them all properly then, yeah?’

‘Yeah alright Pads.’

 

Missions overlapped, Order work got in the way – they barely saw each other, and when they did they could not look one another in the eye: suspicion poisoned everything. A rat had been spreading plague. 

Pureblood traitor, no one would be surprised if you ran back to your family, tail between your legs.

Werewolf, the world hates you already, why not bite back? Why not embrace the wolf?

All of this remained unspoken: they stole kisses greedily, guiltily; fucked brutally and full of anger; pretended they were only tired – no, it’s nothing. No. I’m fine. 

One night, Remus burst into sobs and buried himself in Sirius’s chest, and said over and over, ‘I love you. I love you, you wanker.’ It was as if the tide had broken against the shore. Relief washed over them. Sirius barely choked back his own weeping, held him close, ‘I love you too. I love you. Everything’s going to be okay.’ 

Neither of them believed it – nothing was okay. They were too young, far too young to feel this old. So many of their friends were dead already, and now Voldemort was after the Potters. 

It was a silent admission on both of their parts, I know you’re a traitor they each thought, but I still love you. I know you’ve probably killed our friends, but I care more about you than I care about myself. The guilt devoured them both.

-

Sirius was to be Secret Keeper, though he had a murky track record with secrets – Remus shuddered to think he might have killed Snape those years before, but also – in light of recent events – he wished he had. They’d have put him down too, of course, but he didn’t much care, then he wouldn’t have had to fight. He’d just be dead. And so would James, probably, so no Harry… And god knows what Sirius would have done without him and James to rein him in. Peter, he was always so weak, and he and Sirius very rarely saw eye to eye – they were friends of course, they loved each other, but more because they loved the others… 

‘It’s done,’ said Sirius when he returned from casting the Fidelius. 

He didn’t look Remus in the eye.

‘Nice one Pads,’ he smiled. ‘I made dinner, you hungry?’

‘No,’ he said sharply, and then, softened into a smile. ‘Go on then.’

Remus raised an eyebrow but did not speak, merely dished up another serving, and they sat in companionable quiet, the radio played that Pink Floyd song he loved so much. Brain Damage. Eclipse. 

They had sex, and it was good – really, mind-blowingly good, and Remus couldn’t remember the last time it was like that, but Remus couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t in pain. When the next day, Sirius kissed the corner of his mouth and said, ‘Really do love you Moons.’ It did not feel like a goodbye, and yet it was. 

‘Love you too Pads,’ he smiled at the other man and Sirius apparated, genuinely smiling back for the first time in months, off to see to some Order business, and he was gone.

 

Hours later Dumbledore arrived in their shitty little South East London flat, and Remus knew that everything has gone horribly wrong. 

‘What about the child?’ he asked, when Dumbledore has explained what happened. His hands were locked around his cup of tea, he stared into the depths as if it might spit out divined secrets, might tell him why his friends were dead at the hand of the man he loved. ‘What about Harry?’

‘He is staying with Lily’s family.’

‘Petunia?’ balked Remus. ‘She hated Lily. She hated magic. They won’t know how to look after him…’

‘Blood will out Remus,’ said Dumbledore, and Remus could tell he wasn’t just talking about blood ties, and old, deep magic, but Sirius.

‘That’s crap and you know it,’ he spat. ‘If you really believed that you wouldn’t have gotten everyone I love killed in this fucking awful war. If you really believed ‘blood will out’ then you would have rolled over and let Voldemort kill us all years ago. Don’t spout shit just to make me feel like there’s nothing I could have done to stop him. Don’t you dare.’  


Dumbledore said nothing, let him rant and curse and shout.

‘I should have him,’ he pleaded. ‘I promised Lily.’

‘Not in any legal contract,’ said the old man, though gently. ‘And unfortunately, your condition would not allow for you to take care of the boy alone…’

He knew Dumbledore was right. But he also knew he should fight this harder than he did. He knew he should kick and scream and march over to wherever Harry was and take him, and raise him as his own. But he couldn’t. He was so fucking tired. He was so fucking lost. Everyone was dead, and it was Sirius’s fault. A voice in the back of his head whispered, how could he possibly care for a child when he was in love with a psychopath?

‘I am sorry Remus,’ said Dumbledore gently. ‘The true tragedy of war is not to die, but to be left behind…’

Remus bowed his head in shame and self-pity. 

‘I know you cared for Sirius very deeply,’ he began. ‘I too once loved someone who I greatly misjudged. It is… a difficult burden to bear, especially for one already so put upon.’

‘How the fuck could you possibly understand?’ he growled.

‘I never had a wife,’ said Dumbledore, and he winked at the young man. 

Remus wanted to laugh, Sirius would have loved it, Albus Dumbledore gay as anything, he would have cackled his heart out. And then Remus wanted to cry, because he knew that for the rest of his life he would come across things he knew Sirius would love, and then be struck by the sinking feeling that Sirius was a murderer. Dumbledore left soon after, and Remus sank into bottomless despair.

-

For months he didn’t leave the flat except to scavenge meagre amounts of food. He transformed there too, casting charms to strengthen the doors, muffle the howling, and protect the walls. The scent of people drove the wolf mad – it was dizzy with hunger, insane with bloodlust. The smell of Padfoot everywhere was worse – the wolf whined, where is my mate? Where is the dog? Where is my pack? His injuries he barely healed. Eventually he moved back home.

-

The years were a blur – sometimes he worked, sometimes not, usually not as is often the case with werewolves. He aged drastically, going grey quicker than anyone in their twenties should. There were other loves – no, not loves, there were other bodies, warm and wanting against his own, but none of them for very long. They called him distant and uncaring, or if they found out what he was, they called him worse. How can someone fall in love again after finding out their soul’s very mate was their worst enemy?

He traveled, he studied, he becomes uncannily good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and if he was honest he practiced a few Dark Arts too – know thine enemy etc. Dumbledore tried to get him jobs, always subtly hinting that he would make an excellent teacher, but he always politely declined. He’d been used before; he’d not let it happen again – not unless there was a bloody good reason. When Harry went to Hogwarts, he followed every moment of it covered in the Prophet with obsessive delight and deep regret – the boy was thriving, but he always seemed in danger, and it frightened him. He had already betrayed his promise to Lily he knew, but the least he could do is to try to keep Harry alive. 

And then Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban.

Around the same time the wolfsbane potion was improved, and Dumbledore casually mentioned that Severus had the skill for it… But he would have to be at Hogwarts of course, if he wished to receive it. 

Manipulative bastard.

It was a double torture that year, seeing the face of the man he once loved plastered across every paper, and returning to the place they were happiest. Hogwarts should have been full of nostalgia for him, but it only made him bitter. The first week he cried himself to sleep each night, overwhelmed by memories he thought he had suppressed. But he enjoyed teaching, loved it in fact… They always said he’d make a good teacher.  
Then there was Harry, and Harry was wonderful, and it broke his heart to think he’d basically abandoned this brilliant, hilarious child with those awful people for so long. He wanted to show Harry how deeply he cared, but he had forgotten how to show anyone that he loved them, so he taught him instead, and he tried to teach him well; he flattered himself that he did.  


But he said nothing about the animagi, he barely contained his dislike for Snape, or indeed Snape his dislike in return. He had never grown up, he realised, none of them had – they had merely grown older.

  
-  
Seeing Peter’s name on the map was like being submerged in ice. Seeing Sirius Black’s was even worse, he didn’t know what he would do if he found him, he didn’t have it in him to kill him, but he resolved that he would. That he needed to protect Harry. But if Peter was alive… Why was Peter alive?

Holding Sirius again was unutterably perfect; he smelled the same, underneath the rot, but he looked so drawn and deathly. He forgot he was going to kill Sirius. God he felt weak. He listened. He had to listen. Peter Pettigrew was still alive. The map never lied. That rat bastard turned them all against each other, and he had had more time with Harry than even James and Lily and it made Remus so very angry. So angry he ruined it, didn’t he? So angry he forgot the fucking wolfsbane and… ultimately he was alone again. It was all too much, he was overwhelmed, and he fucked up, he knew it, he really fucked up. 

But then he knew that Sirius was innocent… The man he was in love with wasn’t a mass murderer… His whole body ached for him: it was all he can do not to obsess completely over how much he needed him again, which was honestly, fucking ridiculous, and he couldn’t even really be sure that Sirius would ever want him back… It had been thirteen years for Merlin’s sake; he was genuinely embarrassed he still cared so very much. When he wasn’t eking out a meagre living from odd jobs, or wandering the countryside where he grew up, he sat at home and wallowed in his own misery.

He didn’t even write to Harry like he knew he should, because he didn’t think he deserved nice things like being in contact with his dead friends’ son.

-

In June a large, black dog arrived at his door, a churchyard grim, a portent of death: he let him in, because he never had a choice in such matters, because even if Sirius was guilty as all sin he knew he would have let him in, and let him kill him or whatever else. He was a fool, he realised. 

‘Oh Moony,’ sighed the skeletal man on his sofa.

‘Pads,’ he smiled weakly. ‘Tea?’ As if this were a passing social call.

‘Yeah,’ he laughed darkly to himself, his once silver-spoon polished voice rasped. ‘Yeah go on then.’ 

Remus took his time making it, spinning out the ritual of sugar and milk. Earl Grey. They had both always liked Earl Grey. Sirius used to joke it was proof he was just as posh as he was under all that Northern bluster and Welsh pride. 

He set down the cup in front of Sirius, and one in front of himself (he sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, all limb and scar and sinew).

‘Dumbledore’s gay,’ he began.

‘What?’ Sirius snorted.

‘And Harry takes the piss out of Snape just as much as we did. He’s so clever Sirius. And David Bowie is still making music. And metal – you’re going to bloody love metal. And Gid and Fabian’s sister had twins – amongst others – and they’re like little marauders, honestly. And…’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘Because I want to tell you everything I’ve been dying to tell you for years. You know when I found out about Dumbledore? The day you went to prison. I know it’s stupid, and I sound ridiculous, but I… I don’t really know what to say, so I’m saying all of it, because I’ve fucking missed you.’

‘Right,’ mumbled the thin, dark man on the sofa. 

He stared into his tea, feeling like a fool. ‘I’m sorry.’

Sirius sighed, ‘Don’t be. He is a clever kid, isn’t he?’

‘Bloody Patronus at thirteen, even James couldn’t have done that.’

‘James was far too busy raising hell when he was thirteen.’

‘I wish Harry was too,’ said Remus. ‘He’s so much more responsible than we were – they all are. It’s like they’re being raised to fight, to do better than we did. Dumbledore fucked up with the first batch of child soldiers so he’s getting their kids to finish it off.’

‘Moony,’ breathed Sirius, his sunken eyes almost afraid. 

‘I know… I know… Albus Dumbledore is Great and Good, and I’m just bitter.’

‘Albus Dumbledore has less moral integrity than my left testicle Moony.’

He snorted into his tea.

‘It’s true. But you’re only half right – he’s not a good man. He’s a great man, and his cause is a good one… But he’s not good. You have every right to be bitter, love, I know I am… If I’m feeling cynical, I think he didn’t want me around – so he could raise Harry away from me. He knew I’d kick and scream if I couldn’t have him – he was always so much better at manipulating you, you know? I was always too difficult to manage… He didn’t even give me a trial Remus, none of them did. Just bundled me up and locked me in a room in hell.’

Remus looked up at him in shock, ‘I didn’t even realise. I should have fought. I should have done so much more… I…’ Panicked tears welled in his eyes, his chest tightened, he began to hyperventilate.

‘You weren’t to know… And Peter had turned you against me; you had no reason to doubt I was a traitor. I didn’t trust you enough to give you reason to did I?’ he said sadly. ‘And anyway, all this anger at Albus Dumbledore – will either of us ever give up on his cause?’

Remus looked down at the floor and said nothing, studying the threadbare rug.

‘Exactly, we’re still pawns in this war. It didn’t kill us the first time round, maybe we’ll get lucky and die this time…’ Sirius smirked, and downed the rest of his tea. 

‘You don’t really mean that, do you Pads?’

Sirius shrugged, and looked unsure. 

‘You can’t die on me now,’ he murmured. 

‘I’ll go down in a fight – don’t you worry. I just won’t regret it when it comes.’

Remus didn’t know what to say, all the wind was knocked out of him, all the childish excitement of seeing his friend again suddenly drowned out by the pain of war. ‘You could have come earlier you know…’

‘What?’

‘You didn’t need to hide… Wherever it was you were… I could have looked after you, and that bloody hippogriff.’

Sirius laughed, for the first time genuinely in many years, ‘He’s back in a cave in Scotland… He’s… actually quite good company.’

Remus laughed, tears stung in his eyes, ‘You really have gone mad.’

‘Round the twist mate,’ Sirius laughed again.

‘You could have written,’ he said in a smaller voice. 

Sirius sighed, ‘I tried.’

Then he turned into Padfoot and curled up on the sofa and pretended to sleep until sleep actually came. Remus washed up their cups and found the book he was reading and sat on the other side of the sofa (he was too old and creaky to sit on the floor anymore, even for someone only in their early thirties). After a while, Padfoot stirred and placed his head on Remus’s lap, falling asleep once more to the feeling of Remus Lupin’s fingers scratching his ears affectionately.

 

Remus was woken by a crash, china on linoleum. It was late, he must have fallen asleep reading, his book was splayed open over his knee, marking the page. Padfoot was nowhere to be seen He grabbed his wand, edged towards the kitchen, and relaxed only a little when he saw Sirius standing there wide-eyed, staring at the broken cup in complete apoplectic panic.

‘Hey, hey Pads, it’s okay, shh, shh, it’s okay.’

The black-haired man was hyperventilating, barely breathing. 

Remus approached him with hands open, wrapped the smaller man in his arms, and held him closer as he slumped into the embrace, ‘Shh now Pads, shh. You’re okay. Only a cup. Nothing important… Shh. I’ve got you.’

As he calmed, he eventually pushed away and sat down at the small kitchen table, ‘I was trying to make us a cup of tea… But I get shaky, sometimes and… Well, it fell, and I just wanted to cry because I’d broken something of yours and you were trying to be so kind and… I was suddenly twelve again, and I’d broken some of the fine china and my mother just, tore into me, you know?’

Remus nodded gently, slowly picking up the pieces of the broken cup.

‘That’s what Azkaban does to you Moony, it takes all the good memories, and it drowns them out with all of the bad ones… Until all you’re left with is all the worst shit that’s ever happened to you… You know? It’s not a prison, it’s a fucking disgrace. I wouldn’t even put Voldemort in that hole Moony, and he killed James.’ He looked so innocent sitting there at Remus’s kitchen table, he looked so fragile, the bravado and peacocking of the young man he once was completely absent.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Remus.

‘I forgot everything good. And when I was Padfoot, sure the dementors weren’t so bad… But nothing is as complex when you’re a dog… I just remembered a few good walks I’d had, a few good moons. I forgot what you looked like, and James, and Harry. But I remembered Peter, I remembered him fiercely. It’s what kept me going. I was going to find him, and kill him and…’

Remus placed his hands on Sirius’s, ‘You’re here now. And I’m so sorry I didn’t just waltz in there and come get you myself. I’m going to look after you, I promised Lily I would, you look after Harry, and I’ll look after you.’ He leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the temple, before turning around, and beginning the ritual of making tea. He jumped a little when he felt Sirius’s arms around him. He turned, and sank into the kiss, moaning despite himself.

Lips parting after far longer than either of them would have hoped, Sirius smiled sadly, ‘But then who look after you Remus?’

 

They didn’t have sex at first, neither felt ready for it, it was enough to drink tea together, lie in bed and hold each other’s hands, to talk over memories half forgotten, to walk in the woods together, or by the shore: to hold one another while they slept. 

When one night Sirius whispered that he wanted him in Remus’s ear, he obliged without a single second thought, because he wanted him too, and the catharsis of making love after so many years apart, after multitudes of pent up rage and pain was enough to send his head spinning. It was over quite quickly for both of them, but perfect in its own way.

The wolf was ecstatic to find Padfoot had returned. 

They howled and howled until they were hoarse.

 

That month it was as if they were teenagers again: sex, and laughter, and running and running (that nice Mr Lupin has got himself a dog, how nice, he’d always looked so lonely before), and hands clasping together. And then the owl came, and duty, and war, came crashing in.

-

12 Grimmauld Place was the housing equivalent of getting out of bed and finding your rug was made of broken glass. Sirius haunted it, becoming more drawn and gaunt and cynical. Remus stayed with him whenever he could, but some days he had to be with the Order, some days he had to go out and fight. He turned his anger on Dumbledore, even more keenly than he ever had before: the old man must have known what it was doing to Sirius, and he seemed barely to care. Remus felt something akin to what Sirius must have felt years before, when he had to infiltrate the werewolves, and everything had gone wrong with Greyback.

‘Just let him out Albus,’ he said sharply one day. ‘Let him do something – it is killing him being in this house. Let me take him back to Wales…’

‘It’s too dangerous Remus,’ replied Dumbledore. ‘The Death Eaters know where you live – you’re both far safer at Grimmauld Place.’

‘This is ridiculous, do you even care about him? Do you even care about any of us? Or are we worthless to you…’ He recalled something he had said to Sirius months before. ‘Disappointed that your first failed attempt at child soldiers turning out to be more trouble than they were worth?’

‘Be quiet Remus – you are behaving irrationally. I understand your concern for Mr Black, but I will not tolerate this stream of abuse. I know this life has not been easy for you, and I know that though I may have helped you in some ways, I hold some portion of the blame of what has happened in it… However, if you continue to insult me I will have no other option but to banish you from the Order, is that clear? There are more important things to consider than your ego, Remus Lupin, indeed more important things to consider that Mr Black’s.’

Remus wilted, ‘I am sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be so… Venomous.’ Why was it his rage always came to a head around Dumbledore? He was truly grateful to the man, and yet… There was something in what Sirius had said – as if the older man had wanted Sirius out of the way, more trouble than help.

‘I know,’ said the old man more kindly. ‘The situation with Grimmauld Place is an unfortunate one, I will grant you. But I promise I am only doing these things for your own safety… For Sirius’s safety.’

‘Yes sir,’ Remus mumbled, defeated. 

Sirius was sitting on the stairs, listening to every word; he reached out to Remus and kissed him, ‘You tried, love. Thank you for trying.’ 

-

He was so changeable, so emotional; he was almost like a child. Remus knew that a part of him was lost, somewhere in the fog of Azkaban. He clung to Remus when they were alone. When others were there he was the picture of bravado and confidence, he was the boy he was before the war, vainglorious and itching to fight. When Harry was there it was as if he were talking to James. It was as if he had forgotten how to interact with others, so he projected the person he felt like he should be into the situation. It all slipped away when they were alone, and Remus knew that Sirius depended on him far more deeply than he would ever admit. He found it a relief, if he was honest, that Sirius allowed himself to be weak around him, it meant he was honest to someone.

‘Mad really,’ Sirius said one morning as they lay in bed. ‘You were right.’

‘Right about what love?’ he said sleepily, idly scanning the web of tattoos on his lover’s chest, tracing them with his fingertips. They were both avoiding sorting through the plethora of unsavoury items left to rot in the old house. They had, naturally, desecrated a few of the rooms with their love-making, if only to piss off the previous owners.

‘You didn’t find some nice young thing,’ he smiled mischievously (when he smiled like that Remus could almost pretend that the last 14 years hadn’t happened). ‘You did end up with me. We’re Harry’s weird uncles…’

'Not so much celibate though,' Remus laughed, ‘Sorry we never got married Pads.’

‘Not that we ever really could,’ he replied quietly.

‘It’s the thought that counts.’

 

So that day he popped out for an hour and picked up some cheap rings – foolish really, but it was to make Sirius smile. He came home to find him crying into the washing up, he’d cut himself accidentally on a kitchen knife but hadn’t realised, and the sink was crimson with his blood. Remus held him tight, terrified of ever leaving again, reeling from the sight of all that red. The ring did illicit some joy – more than he’d hoped for really, but he knew it was not actually enough, that his freedom would be so much better. It was only an in joke really, or something more symbolic, but he meant it, with all his heart. 

No one noticed such a small thing like a ring, especially on people they already knew. He thought Tonks noticed but she said nothing. The truth is he didn’t want anyone to know. Neither of them did. The old fear still festered beneath the surface, what if people hurt us for it? What if people hate us for it? The world was still not kind to people like them, and there was another war to be fought in the mean time.

They tried to let Harry know, a Christmas present from them both, but the kid didn’t realise, too weighed down by the pressures of war and expectation that Remus knew so well. It was probably for the best, he thought, that Harry didn’t realise. Hermione suspected, because she was clever, and Molly Weasley too, because one of her brother’s had similar inclinations, and she knew these things, she wasn’t an idiot…

 

‘Do you ever think about life after death Moony?’ asked Sirius one day, his head on Remus’s lap.

‘Cheery cheery Padfoot…’ he put his book down.

‘Sorry, I just wonder sometimes, where they are…’

‘James and Lily?’

‘Who else?’

‘Well,’ Remus exhaled sharply. ‘They’re not ghosts… Obviously. But, seeing as we have ghosts… I think you could make a good case for some sort of afterlife, don’t you?’

‘What do you reckon it’s like?’

Remus sighed, trying to suppress the tears he felt rising up from behind his eyes, ‘I don’t know Padfoot… I really don’t know.’

-

They fucked more often, more desperately: there was a need to feel something that was not pain; there was a need to be close, brutally close… Remus could see Sirius unravelling and try as he might, he could not keep him together. 

-

He was not surprised when Sirius died. 

He was surprised he didn’t follow him, and that he held Harry back from doing the same. He was surprised he kept going, as each day passed, he wondered why he hadn’t broken into the Department of Mysteries and just… followed him. 

He was not surprised that no one really comforted him – none of them really knew, they’d made sure of that. They were childhood friends. The last of the marauders, of course he was sad, he had every right to be… But no one really knew.

-

‘You loved him didn’t you?’ a small voice jars him away from his remembering.

He looks up wild eyed to see Tonks standing there, wielding a fresh cup of tea.

‘I…’ he doesn’t even try to argue. ‘So much.’

‘I loved him too,’ she smiles, and she laughs when Remus looks at her in mild horror. ‘Not like that, as a cousin, you know? He was pretty cool.’

‘That he was,’ he says, rubbing his neck self-consciously, god he aches. He takes the tea gratefully and she leans next to him, staring out the window.

‘Watching anything interesting?’

‘No,’ he sighs. ‘Only remembering… Sad really. Old man living in the past…’

‘You’re not that old,’ she smiles, winking and nudging his arm affectionately.

He laughs darkly, ‘Far too old for you.’

She blushes, ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Sorry, I’m teasing you. Bark’s worse than me bite… Well, most of the month anyway.’

She laughs, ‘I’m sorry you’ve lost him. He cared about you, you could tell.’

‘Yeah he did,’ he says. ‘Thanks Dora – Tonks – whatever your bloody name is.’

She laughs again, ‘If you need a chat, I’m always about Remus.’

‘Ta.’ 

 

Remus looks down at the ring on his hand, takes it off, and fixes it to a chain about his neck; he feels the weight of it, the cool of the metal on his flesh. He shudders, remembering the man who placed it on his finger only months before, remembers all the infinitesimal things that lead up to it, and he almost laughs. 

He doesn’t know what there is after death, he has no idea.

He looks down at the ring and murmurs, ‘You’d better wait for me, whatever it is, you silly bastard, I waited twelve years for you.’ 

He can feel a hand at his waist – he is imagining it, he knows, but he feels it nonetheless – and he hears a voice (hearing voices now Lupin? You really are loony…), rasping, ‘Hurry up then.’

‘Impatient bugger,’ he says aloud to no one in particular, but there is the ghost of a laugh in his head.


End file.
